Sometimes There Are No Words
by Esther-Channah
Summary: Some messages are hard to deliver... and harder to respond to. Spoilers for Batman Inc #8 and Batgirl #18.


Inspired by three panels in _Batgirl #18_, "The Mask of Ashes" by Ray Fawkes and Daniel Sampere.

Warning: Spoilers for _Batman Inc. #8_; talk of child death.

Thanks to Kathy for the beta!

**Sometimes… There Are No Words**

Getting the text on his smart-phone was Jim's first indication that something was wrong. Normally, if Batman had something to say to him, he either waited for Jim to put the signal up or popped in the window.

_Roof. B._

Despite himself, Jim's lips twitched. A word and a letter. That was Batman for you—never one for casual conversation. But if he was contacting Jim via text message… Jim felt another weight descend on his shoulders. Something bad was going on. Part of him wanted to break into a run; every second's delay might make a difference. But then there was a part that wanted to stave off knowing what the trouble was. Between Joker and his wannabes, Scarecrow, Hatter—to say nothing of his troubles with his son—hadn't the city been through enough? Just this once, couldn't he stick his fingers in his ears, leave Batman standing up there, and just go home?

He compromised with a brisk trot down the corridor, and a slightly slower pace up the stairs to the roof. He hesitated barely a moment before he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and pushed the heavy door open.

"I got your message," he said softly to the cowled figure in the shadows.

For a moment, Jim wondered whether Batman had heard him. Then, slowly, the figure turned and took a few steps forward. Jim's breath caught. No matter how bad things were in the city, Batman always exuded an aura of danger and determination. Sometimes he was calm. Sometimes he fairly bristled with tightly-controlled anger. But he was always a force to be reckoned with.

Tonight, he looked as though he had taken a cannonball to the gut. His movements seemed uncertain, even hesitant—which gave Jim pause. Batman had called this meeting; he must have something to say. Jim's eyes widened. Was that… stubble on his jaw? "My G-d, Batman," he breathed. "You look like hell." He took a deep breath and steeled himself for the answer to his next question. "What's wrong?"

"Jim…"

Batman's voice was ragged, with a catch to it that horrified him. Whatever it was he'd come to say, Jim realized that it was bad. _Barbara._ _Something's happened to Barbara. _Ever since he'd found out what she was doing with her nights, he'd known that this could happen. Hell, the day he'd taken his own oath, he'd known that a similar fate might await him. He forced himself to take another step closer. "It…" He'd had to deliver news like this to other people before. He was going to have to make one of those calls tonight, in fact. Officer Sikorsky's family had to be told that their son, father, husband, brother, nephew wasn't coming home. There was no easy way to break news like this, Jim knew, but he'd had some experience. "It might be easier if you just say it," he said. _I won't blame him_, he thought_. Barbara made her choice. Yes, he was an influence, but whatever happened wasn't him. It was whoever did it. I won't blame him. I won't…_

"Robin." It was almost a whisper. "He's… he's…" Batman turned around swiftly, his cape swirling about him. For a moment, Jim thought that he was going to leap out into the night once more. Instead, he stood, shoulders heaving, as a cloud drifted by overhead, blotting out the moonlight.

_Robin. Not Barbara._ For a moment, Jim grinned in relief. Then a wave of shame washed over him. Yes, he still had his daughter, but his best friend had just lost his son. He took another step forward, his shoe crunching a bit on the remains of autumn leaves that had never been swept away.

"I thought," Batman continued in the same low tone, "you could use the warning. Because word will get out and…" his breath caught as Jim's hand came down on his shoulder. "And when it does, the und-underw-world will prob-probably try someth…"

"Batman," Jim said softly. "Look at me." Beneath his hand, he felt already tense shoulder muscles contract even more. Batman didn't turn, but neither did he attempt to shake Jim's grip. "I'm not going to tell you it's okay," he said, "because it is _not_ okay. I'm not going to try to get you to talk about him, although I'll listen if there's something you need to get out. But I'll stand here with you—for as long as you want me to and for as many nights as you think you need."

A choking noise escaped Batman's throat. "I should go," he mumbled without moving. "The city… I'm needed. I..."

He took a step and his knee buckled. He would have fallen had Jim not seized hold of his arm to steady him. "Are you all right?" Jim demanded. Then, quickly, "I'm sorry. Stupid question."

Batman didn't answer, but he did place his free hand over Jim's.

"It's… not like you to fall," Jim noted. "Did you get hur… _injured_ tonight?"

There was a long pause. "Yesterday," Batman said finally. "Some… punk got lucky, cracked a baseball bat against my knee. Or_ I_ got lucky. It's only bruised."

"You should rest it," Jim said, not expecting Batman to listen, but feeling like he should say it anyway.

"I _can't_ rest," Batman explained with a long-suffering sigh. "If I rest, I'll start reliving what happened, and I'll start thinking about everything I could have done, _should_ have done differently, and it won't change a damned thing because he'll still be g-g…"

Without taking his hand off Batman's arm, Jim took a step forward, so that he was standing alongside him. Then he reached out and placed his other hand on Batman's opposite shoulder. "Hey," he said. "Hey, I've got you. I've got you. It's okay." And there he went again, breaking his word, although Batman didn't seem to notice. "It's okay," he repeated. "I've got you."

For a moment, Jim thought that he might pull loose. Instead, Batman slowly relaxed, offering no resistance as Jim drew him into an embrace.

"I just…" he whispered. "I could have… If I'd only…"

Jim pulled him closer. He felt like there was something else he should say, some perfect word of comfort that would be exactly what Batman needed to hear, but he couldn't think of any. So, he just held on tighter and hoped that Batman could take some measure of strength from it.

At last, Batman straightened and moved to break free and Jim released him.

"Whether you believe it right now or not," Jim said slowly, "this isn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done."

"You weren't there."

"_Nothing_," Jim repeated. "Or you would have done it."

Batman shook his head. "I wish I _could_ believe that," he admitted. "For now, though, Joker's people are still at large. I should leave."

Jim nodded. "I understand. If there's anything I can do—"

Batman held up a hand. "You did," he said softly. "Thanks."

"Get that knee taken care of."

Batman nodded. His grapnel was in his hand—he probably figured Jim wasn't going to look away this time—when Jim added, "I meant what I said before: if you need to unload on someone, you know how to reach me."

Batman paused for an instant then, and half-turned back. "Yes," he said softly, ducking his head once. "I do." Then he cast the grapnel and swung off into the night once more.

Jim watched him go, and his mind drifted to thoughts of the young boy who had fought by Batman's side for nearly a year. Despite his youth, he'd projected an air of invincibility, but underneath it all, he'd been just a kid, after all. Not invulnerable. Not invincible. Not immortal. Just a boy playing a dangerous game that had ended far too quickly and far too tragically. He left the roof and headed downstairs. All of a sudden, he felt the need to call his own daughter and make sure she was still all right.


End file.
